


In Search Of

by ShaneVansen



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Post-Series, Reveal Fic, UST, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5732437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaneVansen/pseuds/ShaneVansen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now Henry has little choice but to share his secret, so the question becomes: how will Jo handle it?  (post-1x22 <i>The Final Death of Henry Morgan</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Search Of

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, so, I'm a little late to the post-finale fic party. ;)
> 
> Beta is, as always, courtesy of December21st, who cleans up my ramblings into something readable. Remaining errors or excessive use of pronouns are entirely mine.
> 
> Title borrowed from What About Everything? by Carbon Leaf (because, as I have mentioned many times before, I turn to song lyrics when stuck for titles and this seemed to fit the bill):
> 
> In search of some rest,  
> In search of a break  
> From a life of tests  
> Where something's always at stake
> 
> (For the record, I think it would take Jo more time to get over the whole lying thing, but the muse will write what the muse will write and who am I to argue?)
> 
> Picks up from the final few seconds of the ep.

"I found this." She holds out a photo, and Henry feels his smile start to slip when he recognizes what's in her hand. "I was hoping you could explain it to me."

He hesitates, long habit making him wonder which lie to try to sell to get out of this one, but Abe pipes in with a _tell her_ that is equal parts pleading and warning, and Henry realizes that it's time to do what he's wanted to do for months now anyway. His eyes lift back up to meet Jo's, and he can't tell if he's more relieved or terrified by what's about to happen. "It's a long story."

Jo spares a second to glance at Abe, but she doesn't blink when she tells him, "I've got time."

He stands aside and tilts his head in invitation, and she steps further into the store, following Abe up the stairs to their apartment, where his son disappears to give them some privacy.

Jo has already claimed a seat in a chair by the time he perches on the edge of the couch, too jittery to relax into it fully. He clasps his hands to keep them from shaking. "I've not told this story often. I'm not entirely certain where to begin."

Jo lets out a breath. "How about with how old you are?"

He looks over at her, impressed. "Very good, Detective. Excellent question." He's just not sure she's ready for the answer. "I was born on September 19th, 1779. I am two—"

"Two hundred and thirty-five years old," she finishes for him, and he would think this is going well except that her voice is flat and her expression is completely neutral. He can't read her, and that worries him.

"Yes," he agrees, and looks back down at his hands. "The first thirty-five years of my life were fairly unremarkable, though of course I'm happy to share more of that time with you if you'd like to know. This story, however, starts on the Atlantic Ocean, aboard a ship called _The Empress of Africa_ on a voyage to America in 1814...."

***

It's a couple of hours before his story is complete, and Jo's thankful when she asks for a few minutes to herself and Henry moves into the kitchen. Abe has been puttering around in there for a while now, hints of a delicious-smelling meal beginning to waft into the living room. It would be enticing if she hadn't completely lost her appetite.

She paces around the living room, but the space is too small to hold her all of her thoughts so she climbs the stairs to the roof where she can look out over the city. The sun set while she was inside, the temperature dropping with it, but the cold helps to clear her mind. She stares out at the city lights and lets her thoughts drift.

She doesn't know how long she stands there, can only tell that her nose and fingers are nearly numb with cold when she finally hears footsteps behind her. "Hey, kid," Abe says as she turns. "You hanging in there?"

Jo starts to nod but then ends up shaking her head. "I have no idea," she confesses.

"Hell of a thing to wrap your head around, huh?" he says as he leans his hip against the half-wall next to her. "Took me a while, and I grew up with the evidence all around me. It's just not something that's easy to accept." He eyes her. " _Have_ you accepted it?"

"I don't know," she says, turning back to look down at the street below. "I shouldn't. It's ridiculous. _Impossible_. And yet...." She sighs.

"Yes?" Abe prods.

"If it's true, suddenly so much makes sense. All of those odd comments, his bizarre behaviour...." She frowns, remembering something from their very first case. "I _knew_ I saw him fall off that roof!"

She's probably not making much sense, but Abe takes it in stride. "You'll get used to that," he says. "Henry tends to get a little reckless when he's caught up in one of his projects. Frankly, I'm surprised he hasn't been found out more often than he has."

That's something Henry had mostly glossed over, but Jo'd been able to read between the lines easily enough. "That hasn't always gone well for him, has it." It's not really a question.

"No," Abe agrees, but doesn't elaborate. Maybe he thinks she's not ready for the details, or maybe he just feels that it's up to Henry how much she knows. Regardless, his next words tell her enough. "Go easy on him, Jo. He's wanted to tell you for months now, I know he has, but he was afraid."

"Of me?"

"Of his own judgement, I think. The first person he ever told had him committed to a psychiatric hospital. All these years later and I don't think he's ever gotten over that."

Nora, she remembers. His first wife, who, instead of being glad to have him back, had had him locked away.

He wouldn't have to fear that from her, Jo promises herself, and realizes that she really is starting to believe this outrageous story after all.

There's a noise behind them, and they glance over to see Henry hovering in the doorway to the terrace, looking uncertain. Abe reaches over to squeeze her shoulder. "I'll see you later," he says, like he has every confidence she'll be around as often as she's ever been, and takes his leave.

***

Henry had been watching Jo and his son, trying to gauge the mood, but he couldn't tell if things were going well or not. He'd thought the worst when he'd come back into the living room to find Jo gone, but Abe just made him sit down on the couch with a glass of wine and ordered him not to go up to the roof until he'd calmed down, before leaving to check on Jo himself.

Henry still isn't sure if what he feels qualifies as _calm_ , but he couldn't stand to wait any longer. He needed -- _needs_ \-- to see her.

"She's doing okay," Abe murmurs as he passes on his way back inside and adds, gently teasing, "Don't screw it up."

He manages a smile at Abe's warning, but it fades quickly as he looks back at Jo. Even halfway across the dark terrace, she looks nervous.

He knows exactly how she feels.

With a fortifying breath, Henry crosses the space between them and hands Jo her coat. "Here," he says, and is almost surprised that his voice sounds so normal. "I thought you might be cold."

"Thanks." She takes it from him, avoiding his eyes as she puts it on, then leans against the wall. They stand in awkward silence for a while before she bursts out with, "What the _hell_ , Henry?"

Her voice is so full of emotion that he can't even begin to figure out what she means by that. Apologizing, he imagines, is probably the best way to go. "Jo—"

"No," she says, cutting him off with a half-raised hand. "No, I just...." He falls silent, giving her the moment she seems to need, and she nods to herself. "I asked for it," she tells him, finally meeting his gaze. "I knew you were keeping something from me, and I wanted to know what it was. I just didn't expect something this big."

"How could you?" He starts to reach for her but pulls back. "Sane people don't expect to hear that their colleague is immortal."

"Friend," she says, and when he tilts his head in confusion, she clarifies, "Not colleague. Friend."

The relief that courses through him at her words is so great that Henry has to take a step forward to keep his legs from collapsing. "Friend," he repeats, barely above a whisper, and the smile he gets in return makes him feel like everything will be all right.

"I have questions," she says into the space between them, before the silence can get too heavy, "and I think there's more you want to tell me. But I'm not ready, not tonight. Is that okay?"

"Of course," he promises. "Take all the time you need, Jo."

"I do have one favour to ask. You can say no," she adds quickly, but after all he's put her through recently Henry can't imagine denying her anything right now. He looks at her expectantly. "Can I see your scar?"

It takes him a moment to understand what she means, and once he does Henry figures he's not really surprised. She's a police detective, after all, so his death wound is probably the closest she can get to evidence of his condition without actually seeing him die – and she's nowhere near ready for that. He's not even sure _he_ 's ready for that.

His coat is on but not done up, so it's a matter of seconds for him to unbutton his shirt and pull it aside enough to expose his scar. She studies the damaged skin as carefully as the low light will allow, and Henry expects nothing less. What he doesn't expect, however, is for Jo to reach over to place her fingers over the old wound.

It's just a light brush of her fingertips, and the nerves are so damaged and the scar tissue so thick that he can't even feel her touch. But then she flattens her hand, pressing her palm over his heart, and he can definitely feel _that_.

 _Cold hands, warm heart_ , he thinks inanely, and even though he's a doctor who knows better he knows that in this case, the adage is one hundred percent true.

Without thinking, he lays one of his hands over hers, holding it over his heart. Seeming startled, she looks up at him, and their eyes lock for one long, charged moment. Jo's the first to pull away, and that's probably for the best because Henry is all too close to sharing one more truth with her tonight, and neither of them is ready for that. Not yet.

But maybe soon.

"It's late," Jo murmurs, and though she's quiet her voice seems loud after what's just passed between them. She takes a step back, and Henry makes himself not follow. "It's probably time I headed home."

"Are you sure?" He avoids her gaze by focusing on his shirt buttons as he does them back up. "Abe's made vegetarian lasagne. There's more than enough for you as well, if you're hungry."

"Not tonight," she says. "I still need a little time. Tonight's too soon to eat with you and—and your _son_." 

She says the word like she's testing it, or herself. Henry's surprised by how her words make him feel. It's been so long since anyone has known about his relationship with Abe, he'd forgotten the pride in someone else simply knowing that Abraham is his son. "Another time, then?"

"Another time," she agrees, and smiles up at him. "After all, I promised Abe I'd see him around. I suppose it's okay if you're there too."

He smiles back like an idiot, because he just told her his secret and she's joking around with him and _they're going to be okay_. "Very generous of you, Detective." He turns and gestures toward the entrance. "May I walk you to your car?"

"Thanks, Henry." She falls into step beside him. Halfway across the terrace, Henry is surprised but pleased when she moves closer and tucks her hand into the crook of his arm.

He walks Jo to her car, just down the street from the apartment, and decides to push his luck. Taking her hand from where it's still pressed against the inside of his elbow, he lifts it to his mouth and brushes his lips over the backs of her fingers before daring to meet her eyes.

Jo meets his gaze head-on, and she's not quite smiling but there's a spark of recognition in her eyes that Henry finds promising. "Until tomorrow, Detective," he murmurs, releasing her hand, and Jo wishes him a quiet good night before getting in the car, offering a small wave as she pulls away.

Back in his apartment, Henry finds the picture of him, Abigail, and Abe where it had been left on the coffee table. Thirty years she's been gone and he misses her still, but now that he knows Abigail's fate and can grieve properly, Henry thinks that maybe he can learn to let her go.

After all, he might have a couple of hundred more years to mourn her, but the people around him can't wait that long for him to move on. And what good is eternal life if he doesn't _live_ those years?

Feeling lighter than he has in a long, long time, Henry props the picture back up on the table and goes to join Abe for dinner.

_\--end--_


End file.
